The wind in the Valley of Cloud-Cutting Mist was wrong.
It didn't howl or whisper—it listened.
Shiryu's voice came first, before his form, tearing through the air like a jagged blade dragged across steel.
A thousand whispers hid beneath the sound—anguished murmurs, war cries, prayers choked mid-sentence.
Shiryu: "Who… dares trespass upon my grave?"
The words were not just heard—they were felt, lodging in the bones of those present.
Zenith's grip on his blade tightened. Lithos felt the Flow in his veins stutter for a heartbeat. Even the talismans dangling from Hinazuki's fingers trembled as if sensing an older, crueler magic.
Then—through the mist—two lights emerged.
Eyes.
Not glowing in the usual sense, but lit as though a forge burned deep inside them, every blink revealing the molten glare of a thousand suns compressed into hatred.
The fog thinned—not by wind, but by the sheer force of his presence—and the valley revealed its executioner.
Shiryū – The Thousand-Soul Dragon.
His scales were not smooth armor but jagged plates, blackened like obsidian cracked by heat, each fissure leaking the faint blue glow of imprisoned Flow.
Chains of spirit-iron dangled from his horns, some still bearing the rusted shackles of warriors who had fought him and failed.
Every breath carried embers that didn't fall but hung in the air, drifting upward like trapped fireflies.
The ground beneath him was a battlefield fossilized in his wake—shattered swords embedded in stone, footprints of long-dead fighters burned into the earth.
Zenith's voice was low, almost reverent.
Zenith: "That's… Shiryu…"
Lithos' gaze didn't leave the beast.
Lithos: "Yeah… The war-born spirit dragon. Flow of the fallen, bound into one."
Shiryu's massive head tilted downward, eyes narrowing as he scanned them.
Shiryu: "You step into Kumokiri-no-Tani, seeking the herb guarded here? Then you do not seek life—you seek death."
The valley seemed to contract, the mist folding in on itself.
No more words were exchanged.
Every stance shifted—talismans unfurled, blades angled for blood, eyes locked.
Yatsurugi: "Dark Talisman—Devouring Raven!"
The air erupted with a murder of inky-black crows, their screeches like splintering glass as they dived at the dragon in a chaotic swarm.
Shiryu's response was one, contemptuous roar.
The sound hit like a wall—ravens dissolved mid-flight into a curling mist that rejoined the fog around them.
Without pause, Shiryu inhaled—a deep, oceanic pull—and exhaled a torrent of fire so bright it bled white at the center.
The Flow-imbued flames didn't merely burn—they consumed the Flow itself, unraveling it into nothing.
Oborozuka: "Mirror Style—Dividing World!"
A single, towering mirror shimmered into existence, the glass rippling like disturbed water. The dragonfire slammed into it, splitting in two beams that curved skyward, lighting the mist in a hellish dawn.
But Shiryu didn't relent.
Another breath—not fire this time, but mist, thicker and heavier than before, flooding every crevice of the battlefield.
Lithos coughed, his lungs stinging. Zenith's sight blurred. Even the talismans hanging at Hinazuki's belt began to dim.
Hinazuki: "Enough—Mist Talisman!"
The parchment flared, absorbing the choking fog until the valley was once again bare under Shiryu's gaze.
And then—Lithos moved.
The Flow around him surged, coiling in spirals of pale blue light. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with resolve.
Lithos: "Spirit Flow—Seishin Sōsei!"
The air above him split open as a massive spirit whale, its body woven from liquid light, breached into existence. Its haunting cry shook the valley as it plunged toward the dragon, Flow rippling off its form.
Shiryu did not move until the last instant—then, a single swipe of his claw tore through the whale as though shredding a painting, the construct bursting into shards of light.
But Lithos was ready.
From the fragments, an elephant of equally colossal size charged forward, tusks gleaming with reinforced Flow. It crashed into Shiryu with earth-splitting force, the shockwave flinging pebbles like bullets.
Shiryu barely shifted his footing. Flames surged over his body, consuming the elephant until only charred motes of Flow remained.
And then—Zenith dashed forward.
Zenith's foot slammed against the stone, the ground fracturing under the sudden burst of speed.
The mist parted like curtains before him, his blade flashing in a streak of molten red.
Zenith: "Fourth Flow—Zero Cut!"
A crescent of condensed Flow arced through the air, striking Shiryu's flank. The blow rang out like steel meeting steel, sparks scattering into the mist—but the dragon's scales remained untouched.
Shiryu: "…External Flow? Pathetic."
Zenith's teeth clenched. He could feel it—the beast's hide was not just armor; it was a fortress forged from centuries of defiance, unbroken even by death.
But he didn't stop.
He inhaled, his stance shifting, drawing on a deeper rhythm.
His blade flared, its red aura sharpening to gold.
Zenith: "Tensei—Ryūkōzan!"
A golden projectile erupted from the blade, screaming across the short distance before detonating against Shiryu's side.
For the first time, the dragon flinched—just slightly—but enough to leave a shallow mark, a glint of exposed flesh beneath the black scales.
Lithos' eyes widened.
Lithos: "He actually scarred it… Flow is leaking out!"
Streams of pale light hissed from the wound like escaping steam, the air thickening with the taste of ancient blood.
Lithos' gaze darted to his allies, and in that brief silence, a wordless understanding passed between them.
Lithos: "…During enforcer training, they taught us to combine techniques… I still remember how theirs work."
Yatsurugi gave a curt nod, talismans already fluttering between his fingers.
Hinazuki's eyes narrowed, mist gathering in his palm.
Oborozuka's mirrors began to shimmer into being around them like shards of moonlight.
Lithos: "Then let's end this."
He moved first—diving toward the wound and placing his palm against it. The leaking Flow surged into him, flooding his body like a tidal wave, threatening to tear him apart.
But Lithos gritted his teeth, muscles trembling, and turned the torrent outward, shaping it into a single, devastating pulse.
Yatsurugi: "Dark Talisman—Veil of Crows!"
From the shadows, hundreds of spectral ravens burst forth, swirling in chaotic patterns around Shiryu's head, blinding his sight with a vortex of wings.
Hinazuki: "Binding Mist!"
A column of dense mist coiled around the dragon's limbs, tightening like constricting serpents. The harder Shiryu strained, the thicker it became.
Oborozuka: "Mirror Style—Grand Chamber!"
The world shifted—suddenly they were encased in a dome of endless mirrors.
Every reflection caught Lithos' attack, splitting it into dozens of identical strikes, all aimed at the same point—the exposed wound.
Lithos: "Now—BREAK!"
The impact was cataclysmic.
Light speared through scale and flesh, a shockwave tearing through the valley.
Shiryu's roar became a thousand overlapping voices, the sound rattling the stones and setting the mist ablaze with spectral flame.
Then—silence.
Shiryu's massive body staggered before collapsing, the earth trembling beneath his fall.
From the wound and from every fissure in his body, they emerged—souls.
Warriors, monks, mothers, children—each glowing faintly, their faces serene as they drifted upward.
They passed through the mist and into the open sky, their voices now only whispers of gratitude before they faded into the horizon.
Shiryu's form dissolved, scales crumbling into ash, horns breaking into dust.
Only the sound of the wind remained.
Zenith stepped forward, sheathing his blade. He knelt and plucked the herb from where it grew amidst the ruins—a small, unassuming plant, its leaves silver in the dim light.
Zenith: "…We've got what we came for."
Lithos exhaled slowly, his body aching from the Flow strain.
Lithos: "Yeah. Mission complete."
The mist began to reclaim the valley, but this time—it felt lighter.